


Sherlollipops - Walk Like A Man

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [118]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, Victorian Sherlolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:45:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victorian Doctor Hooper walks funny all the time...but today it's for a very different reason than usual!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Walk Like A Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ditsypersephone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ditsypersephone/gifts).



> _Inspired by a conversation with ditsypersephone over on tumblr. Thanks for the encouragement! And thanks to everyone for reading, favoriting and reviewing!_

She was walking funny, damn! Damn Holmes, it was all his fault. Fortunately Anderson merely asked if she’d turned her ankle, whereupon ‘Hooper’ barked at him to get back to work. Keeping everyone at arm’s length was getting tiresome, but ‘Hooper’ had a reputation to maintain and Molly had no intention of altering her carefully crafted persona simply because she and Holmes had come to a private…arrangement.

Said ‘private arrangement’ had resulted in her current predicament. Her normal masculine gait was somewhat stiff because when she’d first donned her disguise in medical school, she’d had difficulties adjusting to the oversized boots she’d chosen to mask the dainty size of her feet. Once she’d become used to wearing the blasted things, why, Hooper was known as the lad with the limp and that was that.

Today’s off-gait movements, however, were due entirely to discomfort in another part of her anatomy, specifically the area betwixt her nethers. Sherlock had summoned her to Baker Street the previous night, by means of a carefully concealed note she found tucked into her waistcoat pocket after the two of them had indulged in one of their regular – and quite carefully orchestrated – shouting matches over the cause of death of some poor soul or other. She quite forgot whether it had been Mr. D. Richardson, who’d died of an apoplectic fit (not poisoned, as Holmes had insisted) or Mrs. C. Shipwright, who had indeed been done in by her recently (and oh so scandalously!) divorced husband. In either case, the disagreement that had been manufactured to maintain the façade that she and Holmes loathed one another had also roused far more real – not to mention primal – passions in their breasts.

She’d arrived at his flat precisely at 8 o’clock pm, as his note had demanded. Furthermore, she’d come still wearing her masculine guise, as she’d misjudged the time needed to alter her appearance after a late autopsy that Inspector Lestrade insisted was of the highest priority. Not high enough to merit the attentions of London’s foremost (not to mention ‘only’) consulting detective, but high enough to detain her in the morgue until well after 6 o’clock.

To say that Holmes’ reaction to her appearance as ‘Matthew’ rather than as ‘Molly’ had affected him would be something in the nature of an understatement. After first staring at her in what she took to be disappointment, he’d quickly proven that assumption wrong by the speed with which he’d kissed her, moustache and all. “Although I don’t mind a bit of play-acting, Molly, I fear this…” he’d caressed the false hair-piece, “…and this…” he’d touched one of her side-burns, “…must go.” Then he’d very firmly – but carefully! – removed the offending articles, laying them just as carefully aside before turning his attention to her clothing, far too impatient to take the necessary time to remove her wig. Within mere minutes they both found themselves entirely unclothed – and entirely unable to keep their hands from one another’s naked forms.

Her lips twitched in a smile at the memory before she schooled her features back into Matthew’s customary scowl. It was daytime and she needed to put aside memories of the night. But oh, what a night it had been…

_Sherlock’s lips upon her throat were fevered, frantic almost, and his hands kneaded her breasts – happily freed from their bindings – with an ardor that delighted her. He nipped lightly at the pale skin, and she admonished him by pinching his left nipple between her fingers. “No marks where anyone can see them, Sherlock, you promised!”_

_“Your high collars and the make-up you wear to darken your skin color should be more than adequate to the task of hiding any such indiscretions,” he murmured in protest, but obediently moved his mouth down to her shoulder before using his teeth on her again. She sighed and held his head closer to her bosom, sighing again and giving a shudder of desire as his lips closed around one rosy nipple. “Oh yes, right there,” she gasped when soft brushes of his lips and tongue turned to nips and eventually suckling. He lavished her breasts with the same single-minded devotion he gave to solving crimes, and she loved every moment of it._

_Indeed, she loved it so much she murmured a protest when eventually he brought his mouth back up to claim hers in a kiss, but such protests died as the hand on her hip moved between her legs. Oh, the things that man could do with those talented fingers! “Years of violin playing has made me extremely dexterous,” he said between kisses._

_“In a previous century you would have been declared a sorcerer and burned at the stake for appearing to read someone’s mind like that,” Molly said, bending her head to nip at his earlobe. He writhed deliciously under her ministration, and she groped after the part of his anatomy she was most interested in touching. He obligingly moved so that she was able to place her hand directly on the part in question, and gave forth a delighted gasp as she squeezed his prodigious member between her fingers and thumb. “Most notably if they ever saw you unclothed, Sherlock; such a fine specimen must surely be the work of the Devil!”_

_His eyes burned as they met his, and she swallowed at the look of pure, unadorned lust that colored his features. “If I am the Devil, Molly, then you are the Angel I’ve tempted to join me in Hell.” He pressed her back onto the floor, covering her body with his own. “And from there, we’ve turned it into our own, private Heaven.” With those words he began pressing his prick deep, deep inside her, and she gasped and groaned at the sensation. Her fingers dug into the steely muscle beneath his biceps and her teeth sank into his shoulder in an attempt to keep from crying out at the glorious sensations besetting her body. His lips were on her neck, her cheek, her earlobe; his hands slid beneath her shoulders to bring her ever closer to him; and finally, finally he was seated fully and deeply inside her._

_He gave her only a moment to enjoy the sensation; as she released her mouth from his shoulder in order to meet his gaze, he smiled at her rather voraciously, and began moving. His hips thrust slowly against hers at first, but the rhythm quickly grew in pace until she was hard-pressed to keep up with him. Her arms slid beneath his until she was grasping his shoulders tightly, and her legs wound their way around his waist as his hands slid down to support her bottom, lifting her just enough to improve the angle at which he penetrated her. She cried out in truth that time, unable to stifle the call as she felt herself on the cusp of a moment that usually eluded her until he was near his own conclusion. “Sherlock!” she cried out again, astonishment widening her eyes. “Sher…”_

_He silenced her with his mouth upon hers, his tongue ruthlessly invading until her own was happily occupied in meeting its every thrust and slide. And when the moment came – when she found herself finally cresting the wave over which he’d driven her – her cries and groans of joy were muffled and quite, quite prolonged._

_She lay back in a daze of satisfaction, but Sherlock paused not a moment to give her respite. It was if her comment about him being denounced as an accomplice of the Devil had compelled him to prove that he indeed possessed such demonic stamina. When he joined her in completion he had to stifle his own groans against the sweat-slicked flesh of her shoulder, and she felt the distinct impression of his teeth upon her clavicle when he did so._

_Though he’d filled her so completely and so deliciously, it appeared that Sherlock Holmes was far from finished with her; with one last, lingering kiss, he swung her into his arms and brought her to the settee. Once settled there, he indicated with kisses and long, mellow strokes of his hand against her flesh that he was extremely interested in bringing her to a second orgasm._

_Past experience told her that Sherlock was unafraid of using his mouth upon her sex even while it was still dripping with his seed, and tonight was no exception. While her head lolled against the back of the settee, he carefully spread her legs so that she was fully open to his view with her heels on the edge of the cushioned surface. She held her breath as his head lowered until she felt the first stroke of his tongue against her flesh, letting out with a long hiss of pleasure as he lapped at their joined essence, lapping it up as eagerly as a cat at the cream._

_Even though there was a slight burn from their previous vigorous activities, she rode it out, counseling patience to herself and being duly rewarded for that patience when he moved his lips to her clitoris, the seat of female pleasure that so few males cared to explore – if they believed in its existence at all! Their first time together, Molly had fully anticipated that Sherlock would only manage to bring her to the same level of contentment her previous paramour had given her, and had been extremely gratified to discover that her expectations had been set very low indeed!_

_She moaned and gripped tightly to his hair. Wouldn’t it be lovely if he grew it out in defiance of current fashion? To give her something more to anchor herself to when he was so generously applying his mouth to her nether regions. But he’d confessed that when his hair was any longer than the way he currently wore it, it refused to be tamed, became instead a riot of curls which he loathed._

_“Not even for you, Molly,” he said, pulling his mouth away from her sex and frowning. When she stared back at him in confusion, he gestured toward his head. “I will not grow it out even for you. It would be too ridiculous; who could take me seriously with such a head of curls?”_

_She dug her fingers into his scalp and forced his head back; he gave a small yelp of surprise and stared up at her through very wide eyes. “Now is not the time for you to act upon your incessant urge to impress with your verbal skills,” she snapped, releasing her grip a tiny bit and, greatly daring, lifting one leg to drape across his shoulders. “I much prefer you continue to practice your_ other _lingual skills, if you please!”_

_His eyes lit up, and with a veritable growl of pure animal lust he dove back between her legs, one long hand clamping down on her leg when she made to withdraw it from its position on his shoulder. His mouth was everywhere she needed it to be: his tongue probing deep within her sex, his lips sucking at her clitoris again, until with a series of sharp, soft cries she arched her back and pressed her body closer to his mouth. Her second orgasm was very nearly as overwhelming as her first, but this time she retained the presence of mind to bite down on her forearm while her body shook and quivered._

_Sherlock removed his mouth from her sex only when she tugged at his hair again, forcing his face up. She gasped and panted and shuddered as she met his smug gaze; with another low cry she pushed him down so that he landed on the carpeted floor while she threw herself off the settee and atop him._

_He was quite recovered from his previous exertions; she could feel the heat of his manhood against her belly as she kissed him, uncaring of the taste of herself on his lips. If he could taste his own seed, then why should she care about the musky, sour taste of herself on his lips? As long as his tongue was in her mouth and his hands were caressing her posterior, she was content._

_She was more than content a few moments later when she knelt above him, easing her body down and then back up again, moving oh-so-slowly; not to tease, as he growlingly accused her with his hands tight on her hips, but to allow herself to readjust to his thick shaft. Once fully seated she was allowed no more delays as he began thrusting his hips upward, ruthlessly demanding that she take every delicious, unforgiving move. Her hands landed on his chest and she leaned forward, pleased that her hair was still bound up beneath the wig even though it had grown itchy with sweat; this time she truly was teasing Sherlock when she gasped, “It’s so much better not having to, mmm, brush my hair out of the way, isn’t it?”_

_She gasped again as he lunged upward, hauling her close to his naked torso, eyes flashing dangerously as his lips hovered over hers. “I beg you, Hooper, do not attempt humor. It is most certainly not your area.” Then he flipped them so that she once again rested on the carpeted floor, and proceeded to show her how very unamused he was. However, since his chosen method of demonstrating his disapproval was to drive her ever closer to a third orgasm, she found no reason to protest._

_Oh, she would be sore tomorrow, so very sore, but it would be well worth every ache, every lingering burn and the chafing of her male undergarments. She would have to remember to apply a cold compress once she and Sherlock had finished with one another, but that was something to occupy herself with later. Sherlock knelt above her, lifting her so that her thighs and buttocks rested on his legs, and she once again found herself biting her forearm – she’d have to be sure not to roll up her sleeves no matter how warm she found the morgue tomorrow – as guttural cries of ecstasy tore from her throat._

_Sherlock’s own cries were buried in a similar manner, and it warmed her to know that they would bear similar marks as reminders of their passionate evening together._

_When she rested her head on his breast, feeling his heart pounding beneath her ear, she was unsurprised to feel him carefully peeling the spirit-gum from her hairline as he prepared to remove the hairpiece. “I suppose,” he said softly as ran his fingers along the shell of her ear, “I might be persuaded to grow my hair out a bit longer if you..."_

“Doctor Hooper?”

Molly gave a small start as she heard her name being called. Putting on a scowl, she looked over her shoulder to see Inspector Lestrade at the entrance to the morgue. “Yes?” she said gruffly.

“I just wanted to forewarn you that Holmes will be joining me in a few minutes,” he said, somewhat apologetically. She gave a curt nod, and he said, a bit more sharply, “And for the love of God, man, do try not to allow him to put you into a distemper this time! I bring him along to help make my job easier, not to make your life more difficult, on that you have my word!”

Molly made no promises, but allowed her silence to be interpreted as acquiescence even as a devilish glint lit her eyes. One she made sure not to allow the good Inspector to see.

Even if she would need to beg off anything more physically demanding from Holmes for a few more days, she was more than ready for another verbal sparring match with him!


End file.
